Two years in France; Owning my story and writing a happy ending

When I was about 16 years old and studying for my final school exams the police came to our house. I remember the flashing lights and two men in uniform when I opened the door. ‘Is your mother home’ I was asked. “No” I responded. The men looked at each other ‘Ah ok’ they said ‘would you be able to identify this man’ they asked pointing at my father who was stumbling out of the police vehicle. “Yes’ I answered “he is my father” 

My father was found heavily intoxicated in his car on the side of the road with a knife in his hands wanting to end his life. “Thank you officers” I nodded as my dad went inside. One of the police men hesitated leaving, he looked at me ‘would you like us to call social services ‘ he asked me. He was young, probably not much older than 25, he had big kind brown eyes in an open and honest face. He did not look away from me as he waited for my response. One of those rare moments I felt someone cared about what effect this incident had on me. “ no thank you” I replied “we have it covered” I smiled at him whilst fighting back the tears.

before my father spend his life going in and out of psychiatric hospitals he was a top businessman for Heineken

This was not the first time my dad had tried to take his own life and it would not be the last. He was a dark  complicated man. People who were lucky enough to have only known his good side would have loved his charisma and positive energy. He could be endlessly generous if he wanted to be. He had a sense of humour which would make you laugh so much you cried. He had a kindness which would feel protective and he had a way of making you think like you could conquer the world in his company. People who were unfortunate enough to only know his bad side would know he was a dangerous man, that he would destroy anyone getting in the way of his ambitions in a blink of an eye. That he could be ruthless, abusive, manipulative and hurtful, cutting deep down to the core. Nothing would get in the way of his success.

For the few people like my sister and I who had witnessed almost every corner of his diseased soul, my father was a man who’s abuse had no limits or boundaries. Nor did his kindness. The complexity of these two extreme sides of his personality and having this man as our father gave my sister and I a lifetime fighting the demons he had created.

 

This summer, two years after my fathers death, a 20 year legal battle involving a family property on the coast of Normandy finally came to an end. My sister and I had merely been a couple of names on a legal document from my parents divorce. Even though we tried, legally we had not been able to make any decisions towards the house yet we had been held accountable for the negligence regarding the property. Involving a threatening court case to try and hold us responsible for all the ignored costs involved with the upkeep of the house including many years of ignored tax bills by my parents. 

At the beginning of this legal nightmare I wanted to fight, I wanted to renovate this beautiful house, in a way I wanted to save the house as a symbol of our broken childhood. I wanted something good to come of it. But when I saw how much stress this was causing my sister I decided we had to stay a united front and stepping away from the house would be the last disconnect needed to finally feel free from our parents.

endless adventures with Mac and Yann

living my dream of mountain sports 

My backyard 

learning to ski steep gradients in all conditions

This summer also marks my first 2 years in the French Alps. How time flies.

I am living the life of my dreams right now, France has given me all I yearned for and more. When people tell me ‘you are so lucky’ however, I feel defensive. Not because I do not feel like I am lucky or that I do not appreciate what a beautiful part of the world I get to live in. But it was a tough and rough road to get here and I had to swim against a strong current to make it happen. It was not luck that led me to the life I am living right now, it was my choices to keep fighting for the life I wanted. And these choices were never easy. 

Making friends through a shared passion

When I left Europe at the age of 20 and moved to New Zealand, all I wanted was to let go of the broken version of me and start over. Feeling robbed of a childhood, robbed of a carefree adolescence, and where as a child I did not have a choice, I decided that as an adult I could choose my future. And I chose to fight for my pursuit of happiness. Which after roaming around the world like a gypsy for many years led me to the mountains. And in the last two years I have soaked up everything it had to offer me. 

Meeting Yann on top of a mountain during Covid I see as my little miracle 

This winter I raced my first ski alpinism season, turned myself inside out on vertical climbs, chased Yann for  hours over mountainous ridges and down steep exposed gullies, I claimed many podiums including a national title being the current Dutch national champion ski alpinism. With age, injury and experience, I now know how relative these podiums are, and although I enjoy climbing on top of them they really do not mean anything and they certainly do not define who I am anymore. I still race because I love how it challenges me to progress and because of the people I get to do these events with. It has given me friends all over the world from all different backgrounds bonded by a shared passion. 

winning the Dutch Champs 

Racing with Yann

racing Ski Alpinisme is a dream come true

This summer I ran my first true mountain marathon known as one of the most technical trail races in France, if not in the world. 55kms with 4000m of climbing following ridge lines and via ferrata cables and down endless rock gardens. A wet thundery day made it even more tricky staying upright on the gnarly descents. I am hopeless at downhill running let alone technical downhill running, and it is not something that my overactive central nervous system likes. The unpredictability of rough terrain generally produces immediate pain. So why did I line up? Well I like a challenge, I love wild mountainous courses, and the only way to improve is to keep at it. All I had to do was move forward and enjoy a day in the mountains. So all I did was move forward, and I enjoyed a tough beautiful rough day in the mountains with probably the least amount of nerve pain I have had running in years. As usual in French races the support around the course was amazing. In the last 10kms Yann found me and I run a few kms with my favourite training buddy Mac. On the final  climb I had jumped 20 places coming mid field in the overall classification, just outside the top 10 overall females and 3rd in my category. I expected to be at the very end of the field. And although results are all relative to who shows up, this time it meant something to me. When Yann told me his parents had driven close to an hour to watch me finish I had to fight back the tears. With 2kms to go I spotted them sitting on a rock  “allez Nienke” they yelled at me. I felt overwhelmed by the support not only by them but also by the Dutch National Alpine federation who were there with runners as it counted as the Dutch National Ultra trail running championships. I could not stop smiling, I managed a great run, on a great technical course during which I had made some great new friends. It was a perfect day in the mountains.

knowing I will make the finish line

Feeling emotional having Mac, Yann and his parents at the finish

A week later I signed the last document making the sale of our family house official. It felt like a huge relief combined with intense sadness. Finally the feeling of letting go of something so toxic. Since my fathers passing I have caught myself mentioning him more and more in conversations. I have let my thoughts go to the memories, some of them making me smile. Some of them make me wake up crying in the middle of the night. I have spent so many years hiding from this. Although I do not want to be a victim, I feel like my endless amount of dark stories have shaped me just as much as the stories which people find inspiring. As much as I have tried, there is no way I can dissociate them from each other.

I carry your heart with me (I carry it in my heart)

One of my best friends is currently confronting her family with her own fathers abuse. “I have so many questions” she said to me and I want to yell at him, I want to scream at him. When I said to her that she probably would never get the answers she is longing for she answered “I know that and I do not care, I simply refuse to be silenced” Her strength struck me. Although heartbroken she was owning her story. 

If I could have a dinner party with any 5 people dead or alive, one of them would be my father. I would want to ask him my million questions just like my best friend was going to ask her father. I would want to get to know him as an adult and I would like him to get to know me as an adult. And although he would never be able to give me what I ached for,  I would want to look him in the eye with all the horrible hidden truths exposed and find it in my heart to forgive him. I am not there yet.

Family does not need to be blood related 

In the French Alps I have found my happy place. Somewhere I can disappear into the mountains and find silence when my mind is noisy. Somewhere with people around me who treat me as family and people who live a little further afar who feel like family to me. I have a job where I am appreciated and have been trusted to start leading a team of vets which I have been really enjoying. I am learning to allow myself to feel at ease. Still a work in progress. But with that feeling of trust comes a certain desire to be known, to start sharing my story. To own my journey. And if I can help one person feel a little less lonely by doing that, it will be worth the vulnerability that comes with it. 

A home is built of love and dreams

'When we have the courage to walk into our story and own it, we get to write the ending' Brene Brown